


Catharsis

by Ahsim



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: BDSM, Kink, M/M, NSFW, Spanking, men in lingerie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:59:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7744261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahsim/pseuds/Ahsim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“No counting tonight, I think,” Quatre said as he walked around the bed to his instruments. He picked up the crop—excellent weight, with just the right amount of stiffness, in Quatre’s favorite leather. A custom order, of course—and ran his fingers along the handle. “We’ll just go until you beg.”  He brought it back to his trussed up lover and slid the loop of leather along Trowa’s thigh.  “And then we’ll go a little more,” Quatre purred.</p>
<p>After a rough day, Quatre knows exactly what Trowa needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> I've been trying to get back into writing. So in addition to doing a chapter-by-chapter rewrite of The Chains We Wear, have a nice kinky drabble.

 

_— 1-10 —_

The code had actually been Quatre’s idea.  They were getting better about communicating their needs, but there were still times—and really, it applied to both of them—where the right words with the right meaning just wouldn’t come out.  Trowa tended to use it more to express himself, but Quatre found it useful for asking the right questions.  Trowa had enough trouble admitting he did actually have needs, not to add the onus of expressing them.  There had been one too many occasions where Quatre had responded the way Trowa hadn’t needed and Trowa had slammed himself shut entirely.

But Trowa had always been honest about how much easier it was for him to help with Quatre’s needs rather than his own.

Stretching, Quatre pushed back from his desk.  1 to 10, a general scale of the day.  He looked around at his desk (surprisingly neat despite of the end of the quarter reports), and then the office couch and chairs (still plump, since there had been no sudden guests that needed that much pampering) to the tea cup at his elbow.  Tea at five in the afternoon, chamomile for winding down.  

_— 2, 3 at most —_ Quatre finally texted back.  It had, after all, been a day at work.  A little stress was expected _.  —You? —_

There was a moment of cellular silence that stretched much longer than Quatre had expected. It was the first indication that something was a little more wrong than he thought.  Finally, his phone buzzed.

_— Stapler —_

Quatre didn’t remember many of the details from the last time Trowa answered with a noun rather than a number, but he did remember that it had been a particularly bad day.

— _Are you okay_ — Quatre asked, keeping the question marks to a minimum until he knew exactly what was bothering Trowa.  The last thing he wanted was for Trowa to think he was being flippant.

_— Heero is upset —_

Well that explained a little bit.   _— Did you apologize? —_

_— He’s still upset. —_

That could mean one of two things.  Either Trowa was embarrassed and hadn’t managed (or bothered) to apologize yet, or that he had and it had not fixed anything.  Which of course it didn’t have to, but Trowa and Heero had always been close.  Heero’s displeasure or hurt would agonize him.

_— What do you need? —_ Quatre asked finally.   _— Advice?  Solution? —_

 The silence was a little longer.   _— Safe space —_

_— Frustration? —_

_— Catharsis —_

Quatre pursed his lips slightly as he stared down at his phone.  It had been a long time since catharsis came into the discussion.  They usually hit it, but it hadn’t been a necessity since early on in their relationship.  He knew that Trowa had trouble asking for it, more trouble reaching it, and the worst trouble hitting that emotional moment on his own.  This was going to be intense.

He took the time to text Trowa that, and couldn’t quite stop himself from smiling when the answer of _— I know —_ came back to him.  No one could ever say that Trowa wasn’t stubborn.

_—  I should be home by six, seven at the absolute latest.  Get ready whenever you get home.  Use the red set —_

Trowa didn’t respond after that, which Quatre took for nothing less than the silent, excited understanding and consent that he knew it was.  Quatre took a moment to smile slightly before setting his phone aside and returning to the last bit of work for the day.  The quarterly reports were never too taxing, just a little bit monotonous and time consuming.  Still, it gave Quatre enough time and unoccupied attention to plan.  

A little after six in the evening, Quatre stacked the last of the finished reports on the corner of his desk, dumped and rinsed his tea cup in the men’s room, and threw on his neglected business suit coat.  He left his empty offices and entered the elevator with his briefcase with a budding tentative plan for Trowa’s catharsis.  He tried not to plan any of their scenes too deeply; they tended to do better when there was more of a fluidity between them. The space for organic growth of the moment and the natural give and take of energy and power.  

By the time he hit the parking garage, Quatre had decided on a range of implements and positions.  Trowa would get input, of course.  They’d leave the sequence for when they got started.  

The apartment building was on the edge of the city, one of the few sky-rises near the outer limit.  He had missed most of rush hour traffic, so it took Quatre barely twenty minutes to make the drive home.  The night doorman was already on duty after Quatre had parked next to Trowa’s bike.

“Evening Mister Winner, long day?”

“No longer than usual,” he said.  Quatre smiled when he opened the door.  “Thanks Steven.”

“Your husband looked like he had a long day.  Came home just a little while ago, didn’t look his best.”

“That seems to be the nature of that business.”

Steven chuckled.  “Reason why I never bothered with law enforcement.  Have a good night, Mister Winner.”  

 “Thanks, Steven.  You too.”

Quatre liked this particular apartment complex for just that man, and his coworkers.  While Quatre didn’t like to encourage that sort of propriety—he was no better nor no more deserving of respect than anyone else until he earned it—it had its uses. Since Quatre and Trowa had come out, there had been a number of nosy reporters.  Nothing was better for the paparazzi than hearing that the young terrorist-turned-CEO was dating, then engaged, then married, to another terrorist-turned-controversial paramilitary law enforcement operative.  This apartment not only was a gated and guarded community, but it had a tendency to let their doormen behave more like bouncers. Which suited Trowa and Quatre just fine. They found nothing wrong with that sort of persuasion.

Besides, Steven had a very sweet husband of his own, so he had an even better understanding of discretion.      

Their apartment was on one of the upper floors.  Not the top, but still high enough to crest most of the other buildings in the area.  The front door was locked, but the hall light was on when Quatre walked in.  He found Trowa’s bag and his boots in their usual spot, his Preventer jacket with badge hung up on one of the coat hooks.   Quatre tucked his briefcase in its usual space and tossed his keys on the small side table.  He walked further inside quietly, looking for his husband.

Trowa was in the living room, of course, and not for the first time, Quatre was glad that this particular building had gone for the extra expense of reflective windows.  He didn’t want just anyone to see Trowa in garters and high heels.

Trowa caught Quatre’s reflection, fainter than his own as he stood a bare foot from the glass.  He turned and smiled a slow small smile before crossing the living towards him.  Quatre never did quite understand how Trowa could walk in heels as easily as barefoot, especially in the thick weave of the carpet. He supposed though that it really didn’t matter.  Certainly not right now.

Trowa stopped just shy of Quatre, looking down at him through lidded lashes.  He slid his hands up the smooth fabric of Quatre’s suited arms until his shoulders, where he started to push the coat open.  Quatre trailed his eyes up Trowa’s thighs—wrapped in those pretty, sheer thigh highs—to his hips—the red garter straps stretched perfectly over his pelvic bone—to his crotch—where he caught the distinct shape in the ladies’ style underwear of a cock and a cock ring—and up his bare chest.  Quatre paused at his throat.  Trowa had the black one on today, sitting comfortably just at the base of his throat.  The silver chain dangled just beneath it.  Someday, Trowa wanted to get something a little more permanent.  A black collar tattoo that he could wear without worrying about tearing or wear.  Until he stopped espionage, though, the chain and a scene collar would have to do.  Anything else would be too noticeable when he went deep under.

By the time Quatre met his eyes, Trowa was blushing: a delicate swath of pink across his nose.  Quatre smirked.

“So are we just doing it right here in the living room,” he asked mildly.  Trowa paused for a moment.

“If you’d like,” he said finally, pushing the coat down Quatre’s shoulders.  Quatre shifted enough to let Trowa take it off.

“I’d prefer the bedroom, actually.  More space, more options.”

Trowa blinked and then nodded.  Folding the jacket over his arm, he headed back towards the hall leading out of the living room.  Quatre watched the nice sway that the heels gave his husband’s hips, and the way his ass and thighs looked all the prettier in satin and mesh before following him, tugging at his tie.

Quatre closed the bedroom door behind him once they were both inside.  Trowa went over to the closet, hung up Quatre’s jacket, and then headed over towards the bed.  He waited, patiently, hands behind his back in a light clasp, as Quatre pulled his tie out from under his collar and started to unbutton his dress shirt.

“You’re still sure?”  Quatre always gave Trowa the option.  Occasionally, Trowa would take it.  Today, though, he nodded.

“I’m sure.”

“Safe word?”

“Same as before.” They had very few reasons, after all, to say “circus” in bed.  Quatre nodded.

“On your back then,” Quatre said, sliding off his shirt without looking at him.  He toed out of his shoes, listening to the soft whisper of Trowa’s body against the silk sheets they kept on the bed.  Quatre stole a glimpse at Trowa as he crossed to the closet.  Perfectly stretched out on his back, almost in the exactly middle of the bed, with his hands crossed neatly at the wrist above his head.  Like everything else, Trowa did submission gracefully and, well, perfectly.

Quatre took his time in the closet, pulling out what he needed from the storage bins.  A couple of cuffs and some chain from the restraint bin, his favorite crop from the impact bin, the perfect vibrator for the occasion.  And a lead, for just the right touch.  

Trowa needed catharsis, which meant he needed intense.  Trowa tended to like intense impact play, but there were other ways to achieve intensity.

He brought back his selections and arranged them neatly on the bed.  He didn’t miss the curious, slightly confused expression Trowa gave as he looked over each item briefly.  Quatre leaned closed and hooked his forefinger in the little ring on collar before clipping on the lead.  He tugged at the leather just enough to get Trowa’s attention.  

“Diagonal across the bed, pet, head towards the post.”  Quatre waited as Trowa shifted, sliding across the mattress until he was aligned between the posts left of the headboard and right of the footboard.  If he thought it was odd, Trowa’s curiosity was enough to keep him from asking.  He stretched out again, leaving enough space between his wrists and the posts for restraints.  Quatre nodded.  “Much better.”

Quatre slid across Trowa’s body and straddled his hips, smirking at the soft breath Trowa sucked in.  He was careful to keep touch to a minimum as Quatre attached the cuffs to Trowa’s wrists and secured them to the post, and was soon rewarded for that patience. Trowa was a tactile person, and being so close to Quatre’s warm, soft skin but not getting the sensation soon had him squirming, just a little.  Quatre patted his hip before sliding off.

“Legs up.”

Trowa smirked slightly as he dragged his legs up, letting the heel of his shoe catch on the silk. He lifted one, and then the other, slowly into the air.  Quatre purred slightly.  He traced the back of one of Trowa’s thighs, past his knee, and all the way up to his ankle. The way Trowa shivered under the light, one-fingered touch was beautiful.  

“Don’t want to damage these,” Quatre said as he tugged the heels off and set them aside. He cuffed and linked Trowa’s ankles together.  Then he pressed his ankles back, further and further, until Trowa’s toes were just a few inches from the post and Quatre could reach the last bit of chain between the cuffs and the ring they had installed into the post.  He smirked as he secured Trowa.  Already he could see the strong muscles of his core engaging and could hear the slightly sharper note of his breathing as Trowa’s body contorted.  “The chains just for when you get too tired.  Let’s see how long you can hold it.”

Trowa’s lips pursed at the challenge.  He shifted. The angle of the contortion tightened, and the chain went slack.

“No counting tonight, I think,” Quatre said as he walked around the bed to his instruments. He picked up the crop—excellent weight, with just the right amount of stiffness, in Quatre’s favorite leather. A custom order, of course—and ran his fingers along the handle. “We’ll just go until you beg.”  

He brought it back to his trussed up lover and slid the loop of leather along Trowa’s thigh. “And then we’ll go a little more,” Quatre purred.

He started slow. Slower than usual because the legs-up position was a strain on Trowa’s body, his breathing, and of course on his ass. The position tightened the already firm ass to the perfect tightness for a good, hard, lingering sting.  Quatre paced his strikes to keep Trowa from getting used to a rhythm.  He waited, though, until the chain started to tighten again before upping the strength of the strikes.

Quatre aimed a careful, hard strike for the sensitive space just near the gap in Trowa’s thighs.  Trowa jerked and the first noise that was almost a whine made it past his clenched lips.

“That’s what I was looking for,” Quatre said.  He slid the leather loop up along the gap and then down, watching how Trowa’s body twitched with the hitched breath.  “But not quite the octave I was hoping for.  Let’s just get these out of the way.”   Quatre set the crop down long enough to tug the panties up Trowa’s thighs.  He tucked them underneath the garters, just at the top of the stockings.  The garters were tight enough, and the angle sharp enough, that they should hold. Quatre ran a hand down Trowa’s bare skin, cupping one cheek.  It was warm and only slightly pink.

“That should help,” he said, patting him lightly.  “Now let’s try this again.”

Quatre was less considerate this round.  Trowa’s skin was already warmed up, and the first noise was always the crack that needed to be exploited.  He kept the strikes hard and fast across Trowa’s ass and things, easing up on force only when he neared the scrotum.  There didn’t need to be a lot of strength the swing, after all, considering how sensitive it was.  Trowa’s skin was soon pink from the crop, but it was until the strikes had turned his ass red and rather splotchy that Trowa finally let out something like the cry Quatre wanted.

“My, but we are feeling stubborn tonight, aren’t we,” Quatre said.  He ran the crop up along his ass to his scrotum and tapped it. Every so often, he made the tap a touch harder.  Trowa jolted and twisted in the cuffs.  “Isn’t there something you want to say?”

Trowa let out a low whine but managed to shake his head once.  Quatre tsked.  It was the only warning he gave before he struck his scrotum moderately hard. Trowa yelped.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Hnn, p, please…”

“Well, that is a start, but I think we can do better.”

With a final swat for good measure, Quatre set the crop aside.  Trowa panted, whining as Quatre ran both of his hands down his thighs and over the red, hot skin of his ass.  Quatre lingered there, watching Trowa squirm—the way his muscles tightened and trembled, the way his pressed stomach heaved with the extended position and the pain.  Quatre licked his lips but managed to pull his attention away.  They were not done yet.  He slid his hands along Trowa’s ass before trailing a finger up and down the exposed crack.

Just as Quatre had hoped, Trowa was already lubed and stretched.  But he had told him to prepare, after all, and Trowa never did anything by halves.  

Quatre slid the vibrator in with little fanfare.  It was not the thickest, but it was longer as well as slightly curved. The texture should also help Trowa keep it in.  Trowa groaned as Quatre pushed it in and let it settle inside him.  He didn’t turn it on.  Not yet.  Instead, Quatre set the remote for it to the side and reached up.  He pushed Trowa’s legs back just enough to unhook the chain, grinning when Trowa hissed as his skin stretched.

Ankles still cuffed, Quatre lowered Trowa’s leg.  He was not at all surprised to see Trowa’s cock hard and red.  Partly from the cock ring, of course, but Trowa had always had a thing for pain.

“That doesn’t look particularly comfortable,” Quatre said as he unbuttoned his slacks. He let them sit open on his hips for a moment as he reached out and stroked Trowa once.  Trowa keened.  “Does it hurt?”

Trowa swallowed and nodded slightly.

“Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“It’s supposed to.  I think you can last a little bit longer, though, don’t you?”  

Quatre took his time, shimming out of his dress slacks and even sitting on the edge of the bed to pull of his socks.  Trowa was whining by the time Quatre crawled back onto the bed and straddled his hips again. He knelt over him, careful to keep their cocks from touching.  Trowa watched him through lidded eyes, lips parted slightly as he panted.  There was a glitter of something at the corner of Trowa’s eye.  Quatre, smirking, grabbed the remote for the vibrator before twining the leash around his hand.  He lowered himself slowly, settling his full (although not significant) weight on Trowa’s hips.  The tip of his cock brushed Trowa’s, and Trowa groaned.

Quatre grinned and turned the vibrator onto the lowest setting.

He had ridden Trowa before, both tied up and free, but it was nothing at all like the wild thrashing Trowa gave him now.  His hips bucked and twisted as he writhed, unable to get much purchase with stockinged toes on silk.  Quatre laughed, rocking with Trowa’s jerks, the leash’s slack tightening as he fought to keep his grip.  Quatre pressed his cock against Trowa’s and rocked.  Trowa arched and keened.

“And it’s not even on the highest setting yet.”

“Quatre, Quatre please.”  Trowa’s voice cracked as he begged.  It shouldn’t be much longer.

“Oh I’m sorry, pet,” Quatre said, grinding against his cock.  “Did you want to come?”

“Quatre, Quatre it hurts.”

“That’s not what I asked,” Quatre scolded, turning the vibrator up to the next setting. The head of it was probably pressed against Trowa’s prostate, which would explain the hard jerk of his hips as he cried out.  It nearly unseated Quatre.  

“Oh god, yes, please let me come, Quatre, please.”

Quatre purred and then rubbed himself slowly against Trowa.  “You know the rules: me first.”

Trowa let out a noise that was almost a sob.

Quatre took a bit of pity on him and didn’t linger.  He was already hard and dripping from watching Trowa slowly come apart and then writhe so beautiful underneath him.  He wrapped his fingers around his and Trowa’s cock and rocked, rubbing them together. Trowa’s cries and the slickness of his own precum pushed Quatre closer and closer to his own edge.  Licking his lips, he leaned down.  

“Do you want to come, pet,” he asked again, pulling on the leash until Trowa arched. Trowa bucked up hard.  Quatre bit back a groan.

“Yes, yes.”

“Beg for it, you know how much I love it when you beg.”

Trowa sobbed, but the words tumbled out of his mouth.  A mess of English and French that tripped and tangled over each other until there was no sense beyond please, oh god please Quatre let him come it hurt let him come inside, please.  Quatre shuddered as he listened.  He set the remote down for just a moment as he slid a finger back into himself and rocked himself loose.  Trowa’s voice could be better than sex when it broke like this.  Almost.

He licked a slow line along the side of Trowa’s neck, down to the edge of the collar, before sliding back.  Trowa whimpered as Quatre, remote in hand again, pressed his ass against him.

“Don’t move. Every jerk, another minute before you come.”  Trowa whined. “Come on pet, I know you can do it.”

The pleading look Trowa gave him said otherwise, but Trowa swallowed and stilled.  Quatre could almost hear his teeth grind and his muscles tense as he held himself.  

“Good boy,” Quatre purred.  He wrapped his fingers around the middle of Trowa’s cock and slowly slid back onto it. The familiar sense of heat and pressure and presence was delicious.  He slid down until just past the head and then held himself there.  Panting softly, Quatre smiled down at him.  He flexed the muscles of his opening once.  Trowa shuddered but somehow managed to stay still. Tears ran down the side of his face, mingling with a drop of sweat.  

Quatre tightened around him.  “Ready to come?”  Trowa swallowed and somehow managed to nod without moving his hips.  Quatre’s grin widened.  “Alright then.”

With the ease of long practice, Quatre managed to unclasp the cock ring and turn up the vibrator to the highest setting at the same time.

Trowa bucked hard, sobbing at simultaneous stimulation and release.  His thrust upward into Quatre pushed Quatre over the edge. He laid his head back as he came, moaning and jerking his hips forward.  Quatre only managed one or two more rocks of his hips before Trowa came hard inside him.  Quatre groaned out his name, eyes rolling back.  He did so love that feeling.

He didn’t linger on it, however.  Trowa, released from the ring finally, collapsed out of what had to be a painful arch and laid on the bed crying.  Face turned into the mattress, Trowa sobbed, breath hitching as the vibrator continued to move inside him.  He squirmed and whimpered.  Quatre stretched out over him, ignoring the mess he had made on Trowa’s chest completely, and stroked Trowa’s lank hair.  

“Shh love, it’s okay, I’m turning it off, alright?  You did so well.”

Quatre took his time with Trowa, taking the vibrator out with care before unhooking his wrists from the bedpost.   He left the cuffs on but rolled them onto their sides, where Trowa immediately curled up. Smiling, Quatre tucked Trowa’s head beneath his chin.  He murmured softly into his hair, stroking and kissing the sweat-lank strands as Trowa sobbed into his throat.

Trowa normally needed a little time to come down from the high of a scene. The insanity today had been higher than usual, so Quatre tried not to be too surprised—or concerned—when it was nearly a quarter of an hour before Trowa started to get a measure of control over himself.  Slowly but surely, though, Trowa’s sobbing eased into quiet cries and then sniffles. The tears slowed and then stopped. And finally the tall, lean body burrowed against Quatre’s chest relaxed.  

“Okay,” Quatre asked after a moment.  He stroked Trowa’s side and back.  Trowa still trembled a little, but that wasn’t entirely unusual.  Endorphins and emotions had run high, after all.  

Trowa waited for a moment, taking stock of himself, before nodding. “Okay.”

“Get what you needed?”  Trowa shivered and then nodded, burying his nose against the crook of Quatre’s neck.  Quatre kissed his temple.  “Going to tell me what happened with the stapler?”

Trowa sighed and muttered into his skin.  “Threw it at Duo.  I hit him in the forehead and he started bleeding.”

“Staplers are not meant to be thrown,” Quatre said.

“He said a stupid thing.”  Trowa hissed slightly when Quatre pinched his side lightly.  “It was a bad day, and Duo just…I didn’t need his commentary right then, and I threw it.  I didn’t mean to hit him.”

“But your aim is impeccable, love.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighed.

“So that’s why Heero is upset,” Quatre asked.  He felt Trowa swallow before he nodded in his arms.  “How about this,” Quatre started, kissing his hair. “Shower and treatment, and then we can talk about what you say to them tomorrow to make your apology very, very sincere.”

Trowa lifted his head finally.  Through the hair and the tear stains and the sweat, Quatre saw the beautiful, familiar green eyes of his lover.  The usual tension—the stress and concern and tightly-held fear—was absent for a moment, leaving only a soft green expression that was at once tired, fulfilled, and silently, wordless grateful.

Trowa pressed his lips to Quatre’s gently, letting his tongue linger for a long, warm moment, before nodding.  “Sounds good.”


End file.
